


The One Where Sherlock Finally Shuts Up

by AutumnNL



Series: Drabbles and One Shots of a Johnlockian Flavor [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnNL/pseuds/AutumnNL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning: you will probably get cavities</p>
<p>Inspired by the tumblr post where Sherlock deduces John is about to kiss him right before it happens and he doesn't know what to do so he blurts out some random fact and John waits for him to finish and inches into his space before finally kissing him and making him be quiet. Sherlock is so stunned he doesn't talk for a long time afterwards. <br/>It was too cute to resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Sherlock Finally Shuts Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damiensirius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damiensirius/gifts).



“You fool! You utter fool! When did you plan to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me?”  
A red-faced John Watson glared up at the assumed-dead consulting detective who, it appeared, was not dead after all. A year after the famous Sherlock Holmes took a dive from the roof of St. Bart’s Hospital he had reappeared to a grieving Watson in 221b. John was equal parts glad and furious.  
Without giving Sherlock time to answer John continues, calming enough to unclench his fists. The burst of fury gave way to sadness. “Why. Sherlock? Why’d you do it? You know it wasn’t true. We all knew, me, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade. We cleared your name easily. Why did you fake your death?”  
The detective sighed and chose his words carefully. “Snipers, Moriarty had snipers aimed at Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and…you. When he shot himself nothing could stop them except my death. I had to; he forced my hand.”  
John’s face crumpled. “I thought you…I blamed myself. The last words I said to you before…I called you a machine? I couldn’t forgive myself.”  
A traitorous tear welled up in John’s eyes, “Where’d you go? You’ve been gone almost a year.”  
Sherlock looked around at the unchanged flat, “Here and there tying up loose ends. But I told Mycroft to have his men finish the job. Unfortunately, now I owe him, but that’s a small price to pay considering.”  
John gave a small smile, “I’m glad you’re back.”  
Sherlock returned the smile, “So am I.”

~/~/~/~/~/~  
Sherlock had been back at Baker Street for a month. He and John (plus Mycroft) agreed to keep his return under wraps a bit longer, which meant he was under house arrest. To poor John’s horror, the bored genius blew up the kitchen twice with his experiments in only the first week. After that all further experiments were performed in Sherlock’s room. Which fared no better than the kitchen. In an attempt to feed Sherlock’s brain Lestrade gave him cold case files; they didn’t last long. Finally after three weeks of torture, John told Sherlock they weren’t getting takeaway that night. Instead he took him out to dinner. The joy on the detective’s face was worth it.  
They went to Angelo’s for old times’ sake. The man himself took them to a table, taking the news well and keeping it quiet. They sat in a corner away from other patrons. In the silence that followed, Sherlock finally realized that ever since he came back John had not spoken unless completely necessary. Even when his experiment went wrong John had not yelled as much as usual.  
“John?” Sherlock said, uncharacteristic worry lacing his words.  
“Yes, Sherlock?”  
“Is something wrong? Are you alright?”  
John looked up at the unusually caring tone and bit his lip. He was planning to lie, Sherlock noticed. “Ye-actually, no. I’m not alright.”  
“Was it something I did?”  
“Did you really think you could just waltz back into my life, say “Not dead!” and everything would go back to normal? The world doesn’t work that way. I grieved, I made realizations, came to terms with things, and I tried to move on. Now you’re back and I’m stuck trying to keep everything straight. It’s not easy. I need time to get things back in order…I’m sorry Sherlock,” John stood from the table and laid down some money, “eat without me. I’ll be at home. I need to think.”  
Sherlock was alone when Angelo came to get his order.  
~/~/~/~/~/~  
John took a cab back to Baker Street. Once inside and upstairs he began to think over the same thing he had thought about for the previous month, Sherlock Holmes. Over the period of time John had known Sherlock, he had come to admire the man in every way. Only after his death did he realize the extent of his acquired affection. It scared him. That information, on top of his guilt and grief over the apparent suicide of his best friend, almost pushed John to the breaking point. Not only had he (in his mind) caused Sherlock to jump, but he also would never get the chance to tell Sherlock…not even in his mind could he say the words.   
By the time he heard Sherlock ascend to their flat John decided there was only one route to take. He would simply come out and say it. Of course, that was easier said than done.  
“Sherlock.”  
Sherlock hung up his coat and turned toward John. “Oh hello, John. Feeling better?”  
It appeared he was going to pretend John had not blown up and left him alone to eat after John had invited him to dinner. John could admire his effort. “Yes, quite. I need to speak to you.”  
Sherlock paused a moment in his untying of his scarf before continuing and finishing. “Alright,” he sat down opposite John in a chair that had not been sat in for a year prior to the month before. “What have you decided on?”  
John suddenly became nervous, stomach twisting. He swallowed thickly and began, ”Sherlock, over the past year, like I said, I came to realize things. And one of those things was, um…” The words caught in his throat. John cleared it to force them out, but they still refused to come.  
“Um, I realized Sherlock that I-“  
John began to grow frustrated. Sherlock watched him struggle and came to realize what he was trying to say. The genius’ eyes grew wide, and he panicked. “Um, John.”  
John stopped warring with himself to look at Sherlock. “John, did-did you know that pollen bees collect an average of sixty-six pounds of pollen per year, per hive?”  
John chuckled at Sherlock’s nervous rambling and knelt on the floor between their two chairs, leaning into Sherlock’s personal space.  
“Adipocere formation is not a universal phenomenon during decomposition.”  
Sherlock bit his lip as John grew closer, watching John’s eyes flicker down to the movement. “Sherlock, shut up.”  
Sherlock did shut up, and didn’t speak for a long time afterwards.


End file.
